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Wolfwood is, inherently, a good person. This is what you told yourself when he'd annoy the shit outta you. Nicholas D. Wolfwood is a good person, you knew this cause Vash could tell as much and you trusted the blond’s judgement fully. But, fuck, he could get on your nerves.
Nothing personal. He liked to tease everybody, with the nicknames and the touchiness. You knew his game, you played it too.
The back and forth you two would get into would often earn a complaint from your travel partners (Meryl would even ask Vash to sit in the middle seat to separate the two of you while on the road. Not that having the Humanoid Typhoon in-between you stopped Wolfwood from reaching around him to flick at your ear, earning a yell from you and a groan from the others.)
The teasing wasn't what bothered you though, his sense of humor was fairly similar to yours and he was genuinely clever at times.
But what really bothered you was that every single time you'd try to get under his skin, it never really worked. Sure you could annoy him back, but you never got the reaction you wanted. You'd tease and flirt, play his game, but you'd always lose.
It would inevitably end with him turning you into a flustered mess, while he smirks and laughs. Smug fucker.
After three long days on the road, cramped in the backseat, your team had finally made it to a small town on the outskirts of December. You had practically burst out the backdoor, running to the nearest inn you could find, eager to relax in an actual bed while everyone split to do their own things.
After treating yourself to a nice long bath and a fresh set of clothes, you decided to indulge in some much deserved alcohol before you called it a night.
The inn you had picked had a bar, thankfully it was a quiet night, the few patrons sat far from you appeared to be pissed drunk. Not much else to do in this town, you supposed.
You nursed the whiskey neat you had ordered, finding solace in the small booth in the corner you’d claimed. You sigh, the liquor warming your insides.
The glass is suddenly plucked from your hands, Wolfwood sitting on the spot next to you, taking a big swig of your drink.
You scowl, reaching for your drink back as he pulls it up and away with a laugh, "Buy your own, asshole!"
"Aww c'mon. Haven't ya heard of sharing?"
Wolfwood smirks, ever condescending, as he pulls a bottle of whiskey from his blazer, placing it square in the table, "And here I was nice enough to bring ya a gift."
You purse your lips, thinking, before nodding and making quick work of filling your cup to the brim.
Dark eyes settle on your face, patiently waiting as you finish your swig, cigarette dangling lazily from his lips. He holds eye contact as he follows your example, knocking back what you left of the liquor.
Filling it up halfway, the same amount he just ‘stole’ from you, he slides the whiskey back over to you. A peace offering, of sorts. Not enough though.
You extend your open palm his way, "Cigarette.”
“No.” He scoffs.
“Haven't ya heard of sharing?” Parroting his earlier words, you pluck the lit cigarette off his lips, slowly bringing it to yours, taking a nice long drag. Something flashes behind his eyes, but otherwise he stays still, unbothered and relaxed.
On any other occassion, pulling this move would get you the classic Annoyed Wolfwood Reaction. Fangs bared, all faux bravado with no real hostility behind it. Not tonight though, it seems.
Hmm, interesting.
You yawn, mocking, taking a sip of your drink. “I’m disappointed, Nicholas. No bark or bite tonight? So docile...”
Wolfwood laughs, a deep rumble, not falling for your bait to rile him up. He leans in close, smelling of whiskey and smoke, gently retrieving his cigarette, “Wolves don’t bark, sweetheart.”
Raising your eyebrows at his condescending tone, you scoff. Your teasing coming naturally, encouraged by your back and forth with the man sitting across from you, “Oh, my bad. How could I forget you're the big bad wolf.”
"Besides," you mutter, petty, "I'm pretty sure wolves do bark."
"How would you know?"
"I read, Nick. Do you?"
He frowns, "That doesn't sound right. Whatever. Point still stands."
Nick leans back, arms crossing over his chest, smirking, teasing, “It’s not often the big bad wolf chooses to partner up with a lil sheep after all. You should be grateful to me, honestly.”
You can’t control the laugh that bubbles up in you, “Oh so I'm a sheep and you're a wolf? I'm prey?”
He’s smiling as you jokingly place your hands up, in mock surrender, tone light and playful. “Don’t know how safe I feel hanging around you if that’s the case, I could end up being dinner.”
Wolfwood chuckles, eyes flashing something dark and hungry underneath the mirth, “Don’t go giving me ideas, lil lamb. Might mistake your words for an invitation.”
He smirks, before leaning in close, whispering in your ear, “I'll try my best to resist the urge to eat you up.”
Nick leans back with a wink, breaking out into pleased laughter when he sees you blush.
You desperately try to think of a response, a quip, anything to keep you from showing weakness, but you’re so flustered you can’t even look his way, let alone respond.
“Aww what’s wrong?” He teases with faux concern, “Wolf got your tongue?”
You shut your mouth, trying your hardest to not give your nervousness away. This is a game, you remind yourself, nothing more than a game.
The whiskey running liquid courage through your veins, you scoot closer to him, leaning to his side.
“Maybe I’d like that.”
Nicholas shows no reaction, following your movement through the corner of his eye, lazily taking a drag of his cigarette, unfazed. He tilts his head back, blowing the smoke up and away, waiting for your next move.
Wolfwood’s eyebrows raise, seemingly surprised. You finally got a reaction out of him, albeit a very small one, but that small triumph alone spurred you along.
He turns to face you, so close your noses almost touch, your breath hitches. There’s the tiniest hint of dark red in his cheeks and the tips of his ears, barely there but you’re close enough to see it.
He reaches for the cigarette between his lips, snuffing it and letting it drop by the abandoned bottle of whiskey.
Tentatively, his rough hand comes to rest on your cheek, feather light, gentle. Pressing his lips to yours, uncertain but soft, so soft that it surprises you.
Its quick, you’re given no time to return the gesture, let alone deepen the kiss, before he’s pulling back, dark eyes searching yours.
Nick hesitates, and for the first time tonight you see his façade drop, he seems nervous, like he just realized he might've pushed too far. Brows furrowed, he clears his throat pulling back and looking to the side, hand dropping from your face.
You grab him by his blazer before he can get away and the look he gives you feels uncharacteristically exposed for a big bad wolf.
“Are you-”
You close the gap between you, kissing him hungrily, silencing his doubts. You swallow the pleased groan that he lets out, his hands finding their place in your hips, grasping and pulling you closer, your chair loudly scraping across the floor, your legs trapped between his.
(You’re, once again, thankful the bar is mostly empty.)
Hand still fisted in his jacket, grip tight, your other hand finds its way to the back of his neck, threading your fingers in his messy hair and pulling him close, he deepens the kiss, cradling your head, big fingers almost bruising your hip.
It’s hungry, a bit desperate. Was it the whiskey that got you here? or maybe the months of restrained flirting finally boiling over tonight.
As fast as it started it ends, Wolfwood leans back, chuckling at the lil noise of indignation you let out. A squeeze of your hip shuts you right up. He looks at you with a smirk, as his other hand comes up to cup your chin, his thumb pressing against your lips, wiping at the spit there (his or yours? hard to tell).
You glare at him playfully, still gripping the front of his jacket, unable to let go. He knows the effect he has on you, no point in trying to hide it. You try to pull him forward, eyes narrowing when he doesn’t budge an inch.
“Uh oh... the sheep’s upset.” His voice a low rumble, deeper somehow. He laughs, breathless, when you try to pull him in again. “You trying to get rough with me?”
The hand on your chin moves to the back of your neck, thumb pressing against your pulse. Feeling the accelerated heartbeat, he leans in close for a second, breath warm in your ear, "Do you want me to play rough with you too?"
This time the hand in his blazer pushes him back, and he lets you with a smile, smug.
You try your best to sound steady, intimidating, “Maybe this sheep's got more bite than the wolf does.”
He barks out a laugh, your eyes narrow, refusing to back down. Neither of you have stopped playing this game of yours.
You finally uncurl your fingers, soothing his rumpled jacket, running your hand down his chest, you smirk up at him, "I’m thinking I'll eat you up whole."
You don't miss the way his jaw clenches, the way his eyes widen, flickering around your face before settling on your lips. His adam’s apple bobs, and is that a blush you spot creeping up his neck...dark red on tan skin.
The smirk you're sporting morphs into a genuine smile, pleased beyond words, everything about you is screaming 'got you'.
Wolfwood's eyes shine with amusement, letting you enjoy your victory. For now.
"You can try." He replies, seemingly composed, voice rough. His familiar infuriating smirk settling back in his handsome face, "but you might choke."
Your reaction is immediate, eyes widening and your face burning. You groan, dropping your head in shame and embarrassment. Letting out a quiet "Fuck..."
He always finds a way to one-up you. You don’t need to look his way to feel the smugness radiating off him.
Nicholas chuckles, lips finding your neck, smiling against it as you unconsciously tilt your head to accommodate him.
"I think I'll take my reward now. For winning. Again."
You're given no time to complain.
Teeth gently scrape against you, a mere tease of what would happen if he were to bite you for real. Rough hand squeezes your waist.
You gasp, hand finding it's way to the back of his neck, pulling on his hair slightly.
Nick growls, digs his teeth into your neck, hard enough to leave a slight mark, kissing it in apology after. The scratch of his stubble on your soft skin, the warm lips, the sharp canines. It was all so much and yet not enough.
"Nick..." You whine, "Ah- please don't leave a mark."
He huffs a lil 'oops' before his lips land roughly on yours, wasting no time in deepening it. It’s all teeth and tongue, nicotine and whiskey, leaving you dizzy.
Suddenly he stops, pulling back fast. He takes a couple seconds to look at your dazed face, before leaning back with a ‘tsk’ and crossing his arms. You’re about to throw away what little remains of your pride and pull him back when you hear the familiar voices by the bars front door.
Ah. That explains Wolfwood's annoyed sulk.
You take a deep breath, calming your frazzled nerves, as your travel companions make their way to your table. Scooting your chair back into an acceptable distance, you make quick work of your rumpled shirt and messy hair.
Too nervous to pay attention to anything but your beating heart, you vaguely hear Nicholas ask "Where's the drunkle?" his voice far far too composed. You don't even hear Meryl's reply.
You smile at Vash as he sits next to you, already letting everyone know he'd found a bakery we had to visit early tomorrow.
Vash rattles on, unaware that none of the others in the table are listening. Meryl has been peering at you curiously from where she's sitting directly across, eyes narrowed.
You notice her sights are trained on your neck.
In a panic, you quickly slap your hand over the mark Nick surely left behind, wincing at the loud sound (and the sting, ouch).
"Woah, you ok?" Vash turns to you, concern written clearly in his features. He's so sweet.
"Y-yea! Uh, there was a...I felt like a bug bit me hehe"
Vash tilts his head sideways, like a confused puppy, "Oh okay....you sure you're fine though? You're all red."
You gently reject Vash's concern with a meek laugh, "Ah that's the whiskey's fault. I'm a little drunk."
"But-" he's about to point out the drink sitting in front of you is half-full when he's interrupted. Wolf wood loudly sets the bottle of whiskey right in front of the blond with a loud thunk.
"Here, Needle-nogging. How 'bout you catch up."
"Uh thanks, but I'm-"
"I. Insist." Wolfwood glares at him, baring his fangs, and Vash gulps. Nicholas turns to his side, dropping a heavy arm over the reporter, "You too, little missy. Drink drink."
She pushes his arm off, scoffing, "How many times do I have to remind you to call me Meryl!"
Sighing, you lean back, happy the attention is no longer on you. Tossing Wolfwood a relieved smile, the smirk you get back from him, a promise to continue this game of yours later.